


bite chunks out of me

by ssilverarrowss



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Infidelity, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssilverarrowss/pseuds/ssilverarrowss
Summary: But it’s a funny thing, this question of fidelity, because they never broke up. Although maybe that’s only because they weren’t really together.





	bite chunks out of me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Tessellate' by Alt-J. Because I have feelings about this 2+1 arrangement. And maybe Nico needs to be a bit more assertive.

Two races in and it already feels like salt in the wound. 

There’s Lewis and there’s Sebastian, and he can take that, but when it’s Lewis  _and_ Sebastian, it’s―

The longer he watches, the easier it gets to imagine blazing red turning into milky white, himself in Sebastian’s place, arms sliding around Lewis’s neck without the weight of animosity. His fingers twitch, aching for the warmth of Lewis’s body, the body that’s nowhere to be found, miles away in Shanghai, miles away from him. It’s a dull kind of ache that fills him, a  _long-distance relationship_ kind of ache, the longing to touch and be touched.

It’s all excruciatingly familiar except it’s not, and it’s funny because Lewis used to hold him like that but at the same time Lewis  _never_ held him like that and Nico doesn’t know what’s worse. Because this was them, before, too long ago to remember, too recently to forget. Because he’s sure that during their time as teammates, Lewis never looked at him the way he’s looking at Sebastian now.

He bites the inside of his cheek, thinks,  _you never took the time with me._

Still, he watches them, arms around shoulders and hands on cheeks until he can’t watch anymore, until he turns off the tv and blinks against the blackness of the screen. 

Something like hurt makes his stomach clench and for the first time since December, regret floods his mind like an oil spill, dirty and unwelcome.

*

In hindsight, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. 

After all, this is the result, the consequence of a decision made by him and him alone. So if he’s looking for someone to blame, he can only blame himself. 

It’s not Lewis’s fault that he’s so loving, adoration spilling from his lips like laughter. It’s not Sebastian’s fault that he’s so willing to receive that affection either ― anyone who’s tasted Lewis will know that his love tastes sweeter than honey at its best, feels like a fist to the teeth at its worst. 

And anyway. You can’t want someone who’s not yours. 

But it’s a funny thing, this question of fidelity, because they never broke up. Although maybe that’s only because they weren’t really together. And Nico doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know what they are or where they’re at anymore.  

It’s complicated, this nameless thing between them, this thing that began and never ended but at the same time ended somewhere years ago. Never properly and never with a goodbye but irrevocably all the same.

It was good though. Even now, even after his―decision. (The word  _retirement_ still gets stuck in the back of his throat, sour and revolting.  _Final._ )

He still remembers the look on Lewis’s face, the indiscernible lines of anger and hurt and disappointment etched across his skin like splashes of paint, red and blue and grey. And fuck, it was hard not to cave, hard to not make twenty phone calls and piss off even more people and undo everything just to coax a smile out of the corners of Lewis’s mouth. 

It was okay, in the end, as okay as it could be. They talked and they kissed and they even slept together and for a moment it was almost like they were twenty again and carefree and ignorant of everything outside the boundaries of each other’s bodies.

Still, he never hated himself more than he did that night and in a way, he thinks it’s something that’ll stay with him, something he can’t forget or outgrow.

It terrifies him.

*

Nico glances at his phone sometimes but every time the screen is blank. 

Maybe he doesn’t have a claim on Lewis, not a tangible one, but they’re a messy not-thing, orbiting around each other since childhood, and that’s good enough for Nico. It’s good enough for him to grit his teeth and think that maybe they should be more than nouns and verbs. Thinks there should be more of things like  _care_ and  _think about me_ and  _call me._

Because they’re not just a what-if but a very real what has been and maybe that should mean something.

He  _doesn’t_ think about Sebastian’s fingers sliding down the length of Lewis’s arm, the damage a touch can do. About triangles and not-threesomes.

His phone remains silent.

*

He reads the articles, the tweets and the comments because he’s curious or maybe just fucking masochistic.

And there’s a flurry of words thrown around, key words, sweet words, things like _friendly relationship_ and  _amazing sportsmanship_ and _admiration for the other’s achievements_ and Lewis’s  _greatest mutual respect that I have felt from another driver_ ―

and Nico thinks:  _stop fucking lying. There was respect in the weight of your body on my bed, your damp curls a halo framing your face; in the way my mouth fit neatly around your collarbone, the sound you made when my fingers found your hips._

*

He plays the game because that’s what they do. Because maybe he needs to keep himself relevant. 

 _Back on top. Congrats Lewis/Merc! Well deserved_ he types, deliberately ambiguous, and presses tweet. Bites his lip and hopes Lewis sees.

Because jealousy (he’s not) is a dirty little thing.

*

 _thanks_ comes a vague reply hours later. A nameless number, but one he could recite backwards in his sleep.

 _Did you have fun?_ Nico types back and they both know he doesn’t mean the race.

_yeah_

Nico swallows and waits, refuses to accept there isn’t a follow-up. Then:

_had more with you though_

_you should come to bahrain_

He presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

_Is that an invitation?_

His pulse quickens, thumping against his neck with a sudden urgency. And it’s funny, the way he’s angry and upset but never able to say no to Lewis. The way he sits under the skin, heavy and permanent. The hunger of the pine.

_only if you want it to be_

Nico smirks.

_Just like old times?_

_just like old times,_ Lewis confirms.

 _You remember yeah?_ Nico checks.  _It’s you and me._ Not you and me and him, he wants to add, hesitates, and doesn’t.

 _jealous?_ Lewis types back and fuck. Maybe he is.

_I don’t like missing out_

_I’ll see you in Bahrain_

A beat, then:

_is that a promise?_

The corners of Nico’s lips twitch.

 _Only if you want it to be._  


End file.
